I pull open the door and head inside the store. Spread out before me is a sea of furniture. Fifteen minutes is not nearly enough time to see even half of what’s in here.
Desmond’s magic coils around my stomach, the sensation foreign and uncomfortable.
“What furniture do you want?” I ask, even as the spell Des has put on me tugs me forward.
The Bargainer shoves his hands in his pockets, wandering over to a table and peering at the place settings. He looks comically out of place with his big, manly muscles and the faded Iron Maiden shirt he wears.
“That, cherub, is for you to decide.”
Fuck it, I don’t have time to worry about this man’s tastes. No sooner does the thought cross my mind, than I feel an insistent tug from the magic, making my insides squirm.
Des flashes me a wicked smile from where he lays sprawled out on one of the couches, and I realize I should be more worried about this task than him.
This favor is a far cry from the kiss last night. Then I didn’t feel the magic. But perhaps I only feel the pull when I resist it. The thought makes me disgusted with myself. Last night I should’ve fought against that kiss more.
I move down the aisles, going for the ugliest pieces of furniture I can find. My little act of rebellion. This is what happens when you don’t give good instructions.
I dart a quick glance at the Bargainer, and he watches me raptly.
He definitely has something else up his sleeve.
Don’t focus on that now.
As fast as I can manage, I snatch up the price tags on the pieces I decide on and head to the cash register. The magic is an insistent drumbeat in my veins, quickening by the minute.
The entire time the Bargainer’s eyes are still on me. I know he’s enjoying himself. Bastard.
God, his magic feels so invasive. Like an itch beneath my skin. And while a small, sick part of me thrills at the feel of his magic on me and in me, the bigger, more practical part finds it disturbing as hell.
The woman working at the register looks alarmed when I dump the price tags at her register. “Ma’am, you’re not supposed to remove the tags from the furniture.”
My skin glows lightly. “It’s fine—nothing to worry about,” I say, using the siren in me to compel the store clerk.
She nods her head dumbly and begins scanning the barcodes. Behind me I hear the Bargainer’s rumbly laughter.
“Hmmm.” The woman at the register stares at her computer and her brows furrow. “That’s weird.”
“What?” I say, just knowing this is going to be more difficult than I’d hoped.
“I could’ve sworn we’d just got a new shipment of these on Thursday, but it says we’re all sold out.” The item she’s referring to is a hot pink, leopard print chair.
She sets the price tag aside. “Let me ring up the rest of your items and then I’ll try checking the storeroom for this one.”
“Forget about it.” The magic’s starting to breathe down my neck. I doubt I’ll have time for the clerk to check the storeroom.
She gives me a strange look before her eyes move to the clock mounted to the wall my left. I know she must be thinking how close her shift is to being over. “If you’re sure…”
“I am,” I rush to say. I grabbed enough price tags to still fully furnish the Bargainer’s room.
She scans the next barcode—for a couch upholstered in a repeating pattern of roses and sickly sweet bows—and the same issue comes up.
My eyes thin, and I glance back at the Bargainer. He holds up his wrist and taps the face of the watch. The magic constricts around my innards, and before I can help it, I fold in on myself. The magic’s becoming more than unpleasant.
I hold up a shaky hand and flip him the bird before returning my attention back to the woman.
Every other item she rings up runs into the same mysterious problem. A problem I know better as Desmond Flynn.
The magic is making my heart race, and it’s getting worse with each passing second. It’s clear that in addition to the store closing, the Bargainer has imposed a time limit of his own.
This stupid task.
I lean over the counter and swallow. “What in your system is currently available for purchase?”
The cashier types something into her computer. Her brows furrow. “At the moment, it looks like we only have a four poster bed, a wrought iron chandelier, a loveseat, and a gilded mirror.” She sounds hopelessly confused.
“I’ll take one of each,” I say, shoving my credit card at her, my hand beginning to shake. Sweat beads along my forehead.
I would not be killed by some ugly furniture.
Startled, she takes it. “But ma’am …”
“Please,” I practically beg. The magic is starting to seize up my lungs. Again, I feel the Bargainer’s laughter at my back.
The cashier looks at me like I’ve lost it. Then her head tilts. “Hey, are you that actress … you know from—”
“For the love of all that is sacred, please ring me up!” The magic is twisting its way around my innards; I’m going to pass out if I don’t complete this soon.
She flinches as though I slapped her. If I wasn’t in physical pain, I’d feel bad for hurting her feelings. But all I can think of right now is how the magic seems to be doubling on itself.
She sniffs and shakes her head but does as I ask. An agonizing minute passes where she goes over delivery methods and shipping times, but then she swipes the card through the system.
I sigh as the magic releases me and I collapse against the counter. I glance down at my wrist in time to see two beads vanish.
I’m going to kill him.
“Ran into trouble?” the Bargainer asks innocently, standing up from the couch.
I stride past him and out of the store.
Out in the dark parking lot, he materializes in front of me, arms folded. Naturally, no one notices that he can appear and disappear at will.
As I try to pass him, his arm shoots out and catches my wrist.
I twist to face him. “Two?” I practically yell. “You make me redecorate your stupid bedroom in under twenty minutes, I nearly die, and that only eliminates two beads?”
I shouldn’t be this upset. He hasn’t yet asked anything truly awful of me, but the feeling of magical fingers squeezing my organs has almost undone me.
The Bargainer steps into my personal space. “Didn’t like that task too much?” he asks, his voice low. His eyes glint in the moonlight.
I’m smart enough to keep quiet. He looks especially predatory right now, and when he’s like this, I know better than to provoke him.
He steps in even closer. “I had more tasks like this one planned, but if you really hated it, then perhaps we can do something that’s a bit more … comfortable.”
The moment the words are out of his mouth, I realize I just messed up big time. I played right into his hands.
The Bargainer wraps his arms around me, his gaze lingering on my lips.
Eli was right.
The bastard has something else in mind for me.
But just when I think he’s going to kiss me, his wings unfurl. And then we’re rising, heading back into the night.
Twenty minutes later, the Bargainer lands gracefully in my backyard, holding me in his arms. His enormous silver wings fold up as soon as we touch ground, and a moment later they shimmer out of existence.
Wordlessly, the Bargainer carries me to my sliding glass door. Without prompting, it slides open, and he steps inside.
It shuts behind us, and the Bargainer places me on my bed and crouches before me. His eyes never leave mine as his hands move to my ankles.
I’m beginning to get nervous. Just what else is he going to demand of me tonight? Th
e man’s never even seen me naked. Besides, I know the Bargainer wouldn’t make me pay him back in sex unless I was already on board with the idea.
And I’m not.
Right?
Des removes first one boot, then the other. He tosses them aside and peels off my socks one at a time. “Tell me, Callie,” he says, his gaze sliding to me, “are you nervous?”
He’s not exacting repayment right now, I don’t need to answer him. But I find myself reluctantly nodding anyway.
“So you have not forgotten everything about me,” he says. “Good.”
He clutches one of my feet in his hands, and he places a tender kiss on my ankle. “Truth or dare?”
My breath catches.
“Truth.”
His grip on my ankle tightens. “Why do you think I left you all those years ago?” he asks.
He had to go straight for the killing blow. My heart feels like it’s at the back of my throat, and I swallow down my emotion.
I draw in a ragged breath. The past can’t hurt me anymore. None of it. It only exists in my memory.
“Des, what does it matter?”
His magic flares up in my throat, though it’s not painful like it was before. Just a reminder that I have to answer his question.
He waits, letting his rising magic speak for him.
My fingers pluck at a loose thread of my comforter. “I forced your hand.” I lift my gaze. “I pushed you too far and made you leave.” I feel the spell release me as soon as the words are out of my throat.
The past might not be able to hurt me, but it sure feels like a living, breathing thing. Amazing that something and someone who entered and exited my life close to a decade ago can still have this kind of hold on me.
The Bargainer’s eyes search mine, the silver of them glinting in the moonlight. I can’t read his expression, but it makes my stomach clench uncomfortably.
He nods once and stands. The man is almost to the balcony door before I realize he’s leaving.
That thought sends a stab of pain through me. I am so damn fed up with my stupid heart. If I could, I’d break it myself simply for being foolish enough to soften for this man when my mind wants to push him as far away as possible.
“Really, Des?” I call out. “Running again?”
His eyes flash as he swivels to face me, one hand on my sliding-glass door. “You’re righter than you know, cherub. You did force me to leave you. Seven years is a long time to wait, especially for someone like me. A word of caution: I’m not leaving again.”
Chapter 6
November, eight years ago
One wish becomes two, two wishes become four, four become eight … until somehow a whole row of beads circle my wrist.
It was just supposed to be one evening. But like an addict, I came right back to him for more. More nights, more companionship. I don’t know what the Bargainer’s story is. He has no reason to keep indulging me.
And yet he does …
I look at my beads and remember the Bargainer’s warnings.
Anything I want, you would have to give to me. Tell me, cherub, could you give me anything I wanted?
… Could you give your body to me?
I should be afraid of that threat. Instead, a restless sort of anticipation gnaws away at me.
I am not right in the head.
“What are you thinking about, cherub?” he asks.
Tonight, the Bargainer makes himself comfortable on my bed, his body so large his feet hang over the edge. The sight of him lounging there, combined with the train of my thoughts …
I feel heat crawl up my cheeks.
“Oh, definitely something inappropriate.” He settles himself against my pillow, sliding his hands behind his head.
Just when I think he’s going to taunt me about it, the Bargainer’s eyes move over my room. My gaze follows his, sliding over the rack of my cheap jewelry and the bag of makeup sitting on top of my dresser. I take in the posters hanging on my wall—one of the Beatles, another a black and white picture of the Eiffel tower, and that dumb Keep Calm and Read On poster. My textbooks are piled on my desk, alongside my mug and cans of tea bags.
Dog-eared books, clothes, and shoes litter my floor.
I feel young all of a sudden. Young and inexperienced. I can’t imagine how many women the Bargainer has visited, but I bet their rooms looked far more mature than mine, with my thumbtacked posters and sad little tea set.
“No roommate?” he asks, noticing the foldout chair I have situated where another bed should be.
“Not anymore.”
She moved in with her friend, who’d been placed in a single and wanted a roommate. I was both disappointed and relieved to see her go. I liked the companionship, but the two of us hadn’t really hit it off. She’d been funny and chirpy, and I was … troubled.
The Bargainer gives me a pitiful look. “Struggling to make friends, cherub?” he asks.
I wince. “Stop calling me that,” I say, sliding into my computer chair and kicking my legs up on my desk.
Cherub. It makes me think of fat baby angels. That makes me feel even younger.
He just smiles at me, really making himself comfortable.
“What even is your name?” I say,
“Not going to address the friends issue?” he asks.
“It’s called deflecting,” I say, tipping my chair back as I talk to him, “and you’re doing it too.”
His eyes dance. I doubt he’ll ever admit it, but I’m beginning to believe he likes visiting me. I know I like having him around. It keeps my demons at bay for just a little bit longer than it otherwise would.
“You really think I just give clients my name, cherub?” He picks up a stray piece of paper from my bedside table.
“Stop. Calling. Me that.”
“Who’s George?” he asks, reading off the paper.
And now I want to die. I snatch the note from him, crumpling it up and throwing it in the trash.
“Oh, my. George.” Just the way he says that is enough for me to fight off another blush. “Is he the one you’re thinking inappropriate thoughts of?”
If only.
“Why do you care?” I ask.
“When a boy gives you his number, it’s because he likes you. And you kept it. On your nightstand.” The Bargainer says that like the nightstand is the clincher.
What was I supposed to say to him? That the only guy I was fixating on at the moment was the Bargainer himself?
No thank you.
“It’s not like he and I are going to date.” I mumble. “His sister is friends with a girl that doesn’t like me.”
I don’t have to spell out the rest. The Bargainer raises his eyebrows. “Ah.” I can feel his gaze dissecting my body language.
What does he see? My embarrassment? My frustration? My humiliation?
He swings his legs off the bed, the sudden action startling me. He reaches out a hand and pulls me to my feet. “Grab a coat.”
“Why?”
“Because we’re going out.”
Present
In the morning before I head off to work, I pad over to my bathroom and inspect my broken door.
Fixed. The Bargainer repaired it without making a deal. My heart pounds harder at this realization. The Bargainer’s a trickster; everything comes at a price. So why not this?
And the Bargainer’s parting lines. I squeeze my eyes shut. Something he said stuck in my mind.
Seven years is a long time to wait, especially for someone like me.
The Bargainer waits for no one, especially not a moonstruck client who was once only too eager to pay back all her favors. But it sounds as though that’s exactly what he did—he waited. It makes no sense.
&nb
sp; I roll my bracelet round and round my wrist, counting, then recounting my beads.
Three hundred and sixteen of them are left. That means that the Bargainer removed some after I bought his precious furniture. Several beads in exchange for the secret I revealed.
I scrub my face.
Right now, more than ever, I think I hate the Bargainer. Hate that he came barging into my life when I was really making something of it. Hate that I had to break up with Eli over the phone because I didn’t know what tasks Des would ask of me. But most of all, I hate him because he is easier to hate than myself.
I shuffle into West Coast Investigations twenty minutes late, a pink cardboard box tucked under my arm.
For the last six years, Temper and I have been in the PI business. Though what we do is a bit more questionably legal than what the job entails. West Coast Investigations can procure just about anything for you—a missing person, a confession, proof of a crime.
“Yo,” I call out from our reception area, “I got us breakfast.”
The typing in Temper’s office pauses.
“Donuts?” she calls out hopefully.
“Nah, I picked us up some fruit. Thought today would be a good day to start working on our swimsuit figures,” I say, dropping the box of donuts on a table in our waiting room, a little cloud of dust billowing out around it.
Reminder: need to wipe down the sitting area.
“Swimsuit figures my ass.” Temper comes stomping out of her office, giving me a look like I blasphemed. “You think I want to look like a skinny whi—”
Her eyes land on the box of donuts.
“I got us blueberry old-fashioned and jelly-filled,” I say, handing her coffee as well. “Boom—fruit.”
She harrumphs. “Bitch, I like the way you think.”
“Ditto, love.” I head into my office.
Rhapsodic (The Bargainer Book 1) Page 5